Meet Mr. Prince (5 page)

Huffing out a frustrated sigh, she wished she were the kind of person who could pick up the phone, call Alex and tell him exactly what she thought about Prince Zach, the pretty boy with the questionable work habits. Finally, when her watch read 12:30 and her stomach started telling her it needed food, she decided she might as well go to lunch.

She debated knocking on Zach's door to tell him she was leaving, then changed her mind.
The hell with him. If he wants me, he can just wait till I get back.

She told Deborah she was going to get something to eat, then walked to a small deli a few doors away from her building. Forty minutes later, revived by tuna salad, cheese and fruit, she returned to the office and found that Zach was indeed waiting for her. In fact, he was sitting on the corner of Deborah's desk and stood when she opened the door.

“I read your report on the Carlyle Center,” he said. “I thought we could visit there this afternoon. I want to introduce you to the principals, and I think it'll be helpful to hear in person their arguments for the grant they've applied for.”

“I'd like that, but in the future, if you think we'll be visiting one of our prospective grant recipients, I wish you'd let me know the day before.” Georgie knew she sounded stiff, but dammit, if she'd known they'd be calling on the Carlyle people, she'd have worn something a bit more professional. She made a mental note to make sure to keep a suit and heels at the office so she wouldn't be blindsided in the future.

“Oh?” Zach seemed taken aback by her tone. “What's the problem?”

“The problem is, I don't feel dressed appropriately.” Today she'd worn russet wool slacks and a matching cowl-necked sweater. And flat shoes.

Zach's gaze swept over her. “You look perfectly fine. We're not going to some fashion house. It's a hospital.”

“I realize that.” Men simply didn't get it when it came to clothes. They always wore the same thing. Maybe that's what she should do, too. Wear a suit every day and only vary the color of her blouse. But even though Georgie pretended she didn't care about clothes or fashion, the truth was, she liked to look good. And she also liked the feeling of control wearing a professional outfit always gave her.

“You look fine,” he said again.

Georgie would have liked to say something else, but she knew if she did, she would just sound petulant. Worse, she'd sound like a silly woman. So she swallowed the smart remark and simply shrugged.

Zach, unfortunately, looked better than he had yesterday, mainly because the dark circles were gone from his eyes, and he'd obviously made an effort to tame his unruly hair. Why was it men could do the minimum in grooming and manage to look great?

“Oh, all right,” she said. “Just give me a minute, okay?” She wanted to at least brush her teeth first. Because a person's smile was the first thing
she
noticed, Georgie was a fanatic when it came to her teeth—brushing after every meal, flossing nightly and making periodic visits to the dentist—usually between every assignment in the field.

Five minutes later, teeth clean and makeup freshened, she joined Zach, who again waited in the outer office.

“It's a good two miles,” he said when they walked out of their building. “I'll get us a cab.”

“I don't mind walking,” Georgie said. “It'll be good exercise.”

“The streets are messy, and I don't want to be splattered with dirty snow when we get there.”

Georgie hated that she agreed with him. “Okay, fine.”

A typical New Yorker, Zach stepped right out into the street and stuck his arm out. Within minutes, a cab pulled up. Georgie had already figured out that when the center dome light was on, a cab was free.

When Zach climbed into the back first, Georgie was surprised. But she quickly realized that he was the one who had to slide over to the other side and that it was much easier then for her to get in. “Thanks,” she said.

“For what?” He leaned forward and gave the driver the address of the cancer center.

“For not making me slide over to where you're sitting.”

There was that smile of his again. And dammit, it produced the same effect it had produced the day before. What was
wrong
with her? She didn't even
like
him.

“I learned about that kind of thing a long time ago,” he said, still smiling. “I have a twin sister, and she educated me about women and skirts and heels.” He chuckled. “Among other things.”

“But I don't have a skirt on,” Georgie retorted, just to be perverse.

The smile remained. In fact, now his eyes twinkled. “But you
are
a woman.”

And just the way he said it, Georgie knew he thought
she was attractive, and her face heated. Thank God the cab's interior was shaded. Oh, she hated her tendency to blush. She decided the best thing she could do was ignore the remark. “So you're a twin,” she said instead.

“Yep.”

“Any brothers?”

“Nope. Just Sabrina. What about you?”

“I have three sisters.” She was surprised he didn't know that. After all, all four Fairchilds had honorary seats on the HuntCom board.

“Younger? Older?” he asked.

“All younger.” Georgie didn't intend to say more. More than ever, considering her unwanted reaction to him, she intended to keep their relationship strictly business. But he seemed so genuinely interested, she added, “But we're stair-steps. Only one year between each of us.”

“Any brothers?”

“Unfortunately, no. And my dad wanted a boy desperately. That's why we have the names we do.” Forgetting she didn't like him and hadn't intended to be friendly, she laughed and said, “My dad's name was George.”

Zach laughed, too. “What about your sisters? Do they all have boys' names, too?”

“Afraid so. Frankie—actually, Francesca—is named for my dad's brother. Bobbie was going to be Robert, and Tommi would have been Thomas.” Georgie made a face. “When we were younger, we all hated our names. There I was, in class with a million Heathers and Tiffanys and Kims…and me with a name like Georgie. And, of course, being the tallest girl in my class didn't help.”

“My sister's tall, too. She also hated it when she was young, but now she realizes it's an advantage.”

Just then the driver asked a question, and after Zach had answered, he said he wanted to give her a brief rundown on the two main contacts she would be working with at Carlyle during her evaluation of the cancer center. “Jonathan Pierce can be hard to deal with,” he began.

Georgie had familiarized herself with Dr. Pierce's background that morning. A specialist, Pierce had sixteen years' experience in pediatric oncology/hematology, had trained at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center and was board certified in both specialties.

“Why is he hard to deal with?”

“He's a sought-after doctor who is highly regarded, but he resents the fact that the foundation required the center to meet certain conditions to be eligible for one of our grants.”

“But that's standard practice with nonprofits, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Zach said. “Yet I can understand how he feels. Pierce is passionate about what they do at Carlyle. He expected to be approved immediately. Whereas Carolyn Love, the CFO—she's the other one you'll meet today—is more tolerant of our position, because she understands budgetary constraints and that we have a board to answer to.”

Just then, the cab pulled up to the entrance of the center, which was a division of Carlyle Clinic, and a few minutes later they were on their way to the third floor, where the administrative offices were located.

“I think it would be best if you let me do the talking today,” Zach said as they stepped off the elevator.

Georgie bristled. “Why?”

“Because, as I said before, Pierce can be a tough nut.”

“So? I'll have to deal with him sometime.”

“I know, but it'll be better if we ease him into the new relationship.”

“You don't trust me, do you?”

“It's not that I don't trust you, it's that I'm used to Pierce. You're not.”

“Seems to me letting me take charge today would be the best way to get used to him.”

“Look, bottom line? He can be a bit arrogant when it comes to women.”

Oh, great. Fortunately, most of the men Georgie'd worked with during her time with the Hunt Foundation were the opposite; most didn't care what your gender was, they were simply grateful for any help they could get. Of course, that didn't always hold true for some of the bureaucrats she'd had dealings with. She'd often wondered why the least important political hack put on the most airs. The way she'd always dealt with these types was to let them know right off the bat that she wasn't going to put up with any B.S. from them…or anyone.

“Look,” she said to Zach, “I am not one of those seen-but-not-heard women. And I refuse to pretend to be.”

Zach sighed. “I can't stop you from talking. But it would make things a lot easier for everyone if you'd just back off a little. You and I know you're going to be in charge, and Jonathan Pierce will soon know it, too. I just don't want to rub his nose in it today, okay?”

“Oh, all right,” she finally said. “I'll keep my mouth shut and let you do the talking.”
This time
.

Maybe the expression on her face gave away her thoughts, because he raised his eyebrows. “Why do I get the feeling Jonathan Pierce better watch out?”

T
he meeting hadn't been too bad, Georgie thought. Although Zach had done most of the talking, she hadn't felt like a fifth wheel, because he'd included her in his remarks, saying things like, “I know Miss Fairchild agrees,” or “After today, please contact Miss Fairchild with any questions or concerns.”

She'd only broken her promise to Zach once, and that was at the very end of their meeting, when they'd all stood and were saying their goodbyes. Georgie had turned to Carolyn Love—and Zach had been right about her: She was businesslike, and Georgie immediately liked her—to say she'd call for an appointment in the next few days, and Jonathan Pierce had said, pointedly, to Zach, “Call me as soon as you've made your decision, Zach, so I can get that new equipment ordered.”

Before Zach could open his mouth to reply, Georgie said, also pointedly, “Dr. Pierce, you've already been
told that it's me you'll be dealing with from now on. I'll be the one calling you.”

Pierce's gray eyes had darkened, and he'd glared at her. But before he could reply, Zach said, “Yes, Jonathan, Miss Fairchild will be contacting you.”

They were saved additional histrionics by the doctor's pager going off, and he'd abruptly left the small conference room where the meeting had taken place, but not before giving Georgie the evil eye. She almost laughed. Her eyes had met Zach's and he'd winked.

Maybe I've misjudged him,
she thought grudgingly.

She and Zach rode the elevator down to the main floor in silence. There were hospital personnel getting on and off; it paid to be discreet.

Georgie tightened her scarf as they exited the building. She was also glad she was wearing warm leather gloves, because the temperature seemed to have dropped while they were inside. Or maybe the contrast between the warm building and the bitterly cold February wind just made it feel colder out. Georgie did notice how quickly most of the people on the sidewalk were moving, most with their heads down.

Before hailing a cab, Zach turned to her and said, “Do you mind if we stop off at my apartment before going back to the office? I left some files there that I meant to bring with me this morning.”

“No, that's fine.”

A cab pulled over almost immediately, and they got in. Georgie found she was actually looking forward to seeing where Zach lived. Maybe she'd even get to meet his wife.

“My oldest daughter is home sick today,” he said after giving the driver their destination. “She's got a strep infection.”

“I used to get those when I was a kid. They're not any fun.”

“No. She was pretty miserable yesterday, but the antibiotic seems to be doing its job. She seemed better this morning.”

Georgie knew it was none of her business, but he'd given her an opening, so she said, “Is that why you left the office early yesterday afternoon?”

He only hesitated a moment before shaking his head. “No. I had an appointment at Katie's school.” He sighed. “She's had a rough time since her mother died.”

Georgie's mouth went dry. “Your…your wife
died?
”

“Yes. Jenny…had cancer.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Thank you.”

Georgie's mind spun. A lot of her ideas about Zach had been wrong, then. He wasn't married. And he wasn't a playboy who stayed out late every night. He was a widower with three young children.
That'll teach me to be so judgmental, to jump to conclusions about people
.

What else had she been wrong about? Maybe he wasn't a slacker as far as work was concerned, either. He certainly had conducted himself well today, and he definitely seemed to know what he was talking about. She could see that both Jonathan Pierce and Carolyn Love respected him. And Love, in particular, had impressed Georgie as the kind of businesswoman who wouldn't be easy to fool.

Georgie wondered if Zach would say anything more, but he turned away from her and stared out the window on his side…or pretended to. She wondered how long ago his wife had died. Maybe his children weren't as young as she'd originally thought. Maybe that photo on
his desk had been taken a while ago. But she'd be willing to bet that Zach was only in his thirties. He certainly didn't look any older than that. So unless he'd married right out of high school, which she was certain wouldn't be the case, his children couldn't be that old.

Now she was avidly curious about him. Why hadn't Alex informed her that Zach was a widower? Yet why should he? She realized Alex rarely repeated anything personal about any of the Hunt Foundation employees, especially since she'd begun working for him. Actually, she appreciated his respect for their privacy. That told her he would not have discussed anything personal about her, either, not with Zach and not with any of the people she'd worked with or for.

Her mind teemed with unanswered questions during the ten-minute cab ride. When the taxi pulled up in front of an apartment building on W. 66th Street, right around the corner from Lincoln Center, Georgie blinked in surprise. Even as a newcomer to the city, she recognized that they were in a high-rent district.

As they exited the cab, a uniformed doorman opened the door of the building as soon as he recognized Zach, saying, “Good afternoon, Mr. Prince.”

“Good afternoon, Thomas.”

The doorman smiled at Georgie.

There was a security guard sitting at a desk in the lobby of the building, and he, too, called Zach by name. “Cold one out there today,” he said as they approached.

“Sure is,” Zach said, then added, “How's Mona doing?”

“Better,” the guard said. “She'll get her cast off next week.”

“I know she'll be glad.” Turning to Georgie, Zach
said, “This way,” and led her around the corner to a bank of three elevators.

Georgie couldn't help thinking what a fortune this building must cost to live in. How did Zach afford it? She knew his job at the foundation couldn't begin to pay enough to live on this scale. In fact, she knew, because Alex had recently mentioned it, that the board of directors had been talking about raises for the administrative staff since salaries at the Hunt Foundation had been found to be lower than comparable companies, and if they wanted to remain competitive and attract the best employees, they had to spend some money.

When the elevator doors opened on the eleventh floor, Georgie wouldn't have been at all surprised to find they were already in Zach's apartment, but instead they walked out into a hallway. There were two entrances that Georgie could see. Zach headed for a double doorway midway down the right side of the hall. After unlocking the doors, he gestured her ahead of him.

They entered a small foyer containing an antique lowboy upon which sat an ornate Chinese vase filled with fresh flowers. “It's me, Fanny,” Zach called. Seconds later, an attractive fifty-something woman with dark hair and a pleasant smile greeted them.

“Fanny, this is Georgie Fairchild, my new assistant. Georgie, I'd like you to meet Fanny Whittaker, our housekeeper and the one person I can't live without.”

Georgie smiled and shook the woman's hand. The housekeeper's hazel eyes, filled with intelligence, gave Georgie a quick once-over.

“How's Katie doing?” Zach asked.

“She's much better today, Mr. Prince. In fact, she's watching a movie now. I fixed her some tea and cinnamon toast.”

“And where's Emma?” He turned to Georgie. “Emma's my three-year-old. Normally, when she's around, you can't get a word in edgewise.”

“Sabrina took her for the day,” Fanny said.

“Sabrina's a saint.”

“Well, Emma was driving poor Katie crazy. She wanted to play Go Fish and wouldn't take no for an answer.”

Zach shook his head. “She's a pistol,” he said to Georgie. “When she sets her mind to something, you cannot sway her.”

Georgie laughed. “Sounds like me when I was little. Actually, my sisters would say that sounds like me
now
.”

“Uh-oh,” Zach said. “That doesn't bode well for me, does it?”

Georgie shrugged. “We'll see. Depends on whether you agree with me or not.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “C'mon, I'll introduce you to Katie.”

A few minutes later, they stood in the family room, whose windows faced Central Park. Although it was bitterly cold outside, the afternoon sun gave the illusion of warmth as it streamed through the windows. Katie was propped against pillows on one of two matching love seats and covered by a gaily patterned quilt. A TV tray sat next to her, and Georgie could see the remnants of her snack along with a box of tissues.

Zach's daughter had his dark hair, but her eyes were a warm brown and her face was heart-shaped. Even seated, Georgie could tell she was petite. Her face lit up at her father's appearance. “Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, honey. Fanny tells me you're feeling better today.”

Katie nodded. “Lots better.”

“Katie, I want you to meet my new assistant. This is Miss Fairchild. Georgie, this is my daughter Katie.”

“Hi, Katie.”

“Hello, Miss Fairchild.”

“Oh, please. Call me Georgie. Everyone does.” Georgie smiled at the girl.

Katie studied her as if considering. Her expression remained noncommital.

“We had a meeting at the Carlyle Clinic and we're on our way back to the office,” Zach said. “We just stopped by to pick up some files.”

“Oh.”

There was no mistaking the disappointment in Katie's voice.

“I'm sorry, honey. I'll try to be home early. In the meantime, get a lot of rest. When I get home, we'll have a game of chess.”

She gave him a dubious look. “Emma and Jeremy will be here by then.”

“I know, but we'll still have our game, I promise.”

Katie shrugged. “Whatever.” In that gesture, Georgie saw all the times Katie's interests had had to take a backseat to her younger siblings' demands for attention. Georgie could relate. As much as she now loved her sisters, she could remember all those times she wished they'd just disappear.

Bending down, Zach kissed his daughter on the cheek. “We've got to get back to the office now, but I'll be home no later than six.”

Katie sighed. “Okay.” She picked up the remote and before they'd even left the room, Georgie saw that the movie was playing again.

 

Cornelia hated being late. She felt it was rude and sent the message that you thought your time was more valuable than the person's you were meeting. But today her lateness was unavoidable, because when she'd gotten in her car she'd discovered her battery was dead.

She'd immediately called Kit Hoover, the old friend she was meeting for lunch at the club, and Kit said not to worry. Then Cornelia had called a cab. She simply didn't have time to deal with her car this morning.

“You're looking very chic today,” Kit said as Cornelia approached their table, where Kit was already halfway through a glass of wine. She eyed Cornelia over the tops of her oversized red frames, which she wore perched halfway down her nose. Kit kept her short hair dyed the black of her youth and had half a dozen pairs of glasses with bright frames that matched her outfits. Today was no exception; she wore a fire-engine-red pants suit.

“Thank you. So are you. I like the red,” Cornelia said, sitting opposite her friend. Cornelia rarely, if ever, wore primary colors, favoring instead the soft, muted shades that were more suitable to her peaches-and-cream coloring.

“And I love that sea-green dress,” Kit said. “On you, at any rate.” She drank another healthy slug of wine.

Cornelia told herself she was not Kit's mother, nor was it her job to monitor how much Kit drank. But sometimes Kit's tendency to over-imbibe bothered Cornelia.

They didn't talk while Cornelia looked over the menu, then gave their orders to their waiter, an older man who had been working at the club almost as long as Cornelia had been a member. He greeted Cornelia with a big smile. “Nice to see you again, Ms. Fairchild,” he said.

“Thank you, Fred.”

After he left to place their orders, Kit said, “So what's new? I feel like I haven't seen you in weeks.”

“That's because you haven't,” Cornelia said, laughing. “Well, let's see. My Seattle-based girls are all busy and happily in love.”

“What about Georgie? She still roaming around the world?”

Cornelia was in the middle of telling Kit about Georgie's new job in New York when Kit suddenly sat up straighter, looked beyond Cornelia and said, “Well, hello, Greg.”

Cornelia's heart gave a little hop, and she turned around. She hadn't seen the golf pro for a while; he'd been participating in a tournament in Hawaii and had also taken some personal time, but now he was obviously back.

“Hello, Kit, Cornelia.” Greg's smile encompassed them both, but his blue eyes focused on Cornelia and remained there.

“We missed you,” Kit said. “How'd you do in Hawaii?”

“Not bad. Came in sixth.”

“When did you get back?” Cornelia asked.

“Last night.”

Cornelia knew she wasn't in love with Greg, but she had to admit that he always got her blood stirring. It was very flattering to know that he found her attractive and wanted to be with her. At forty-nine, he could have had his pick of younger women, yet he seemed to prefer her company.

“Well, we're glad you're home,” Kit said. Her gaze lasered in on Cornelia. “Aren't we, Corny?”

Cornelia could feel herself flushing, and she wanted
to kick Kit. “Yes, we are. And I'm delighted you did so well in the tournament.”

“Thank you.” Greg looked at the table. “Are you two just starting lunch or just finishing up?”

“Just starting,” Kit said before Cornelia could answer. “Would you like to join us?”